


Dreaded Words

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Broken Hearts, Day 19, Does it count as characters being in here if they're dead?, Gore, Grief, I'll say yes, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Whumptober 2020, mourning loved one, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Sam and Cas are dead. Dean can't make sense of it. How could he?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Whumptober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947223
Kudos: 15
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Dreaded Words

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020
> 
> No 19. BROKEN HEARTS
> 
> Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

“No. No. _No._ ”

Those were the only words Dean Winchester could say as he stared down at his dead brother. His mangled body lay a few feet from that of Dean’s lover’s, whose broken wings burned the ground.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Ever.

Wasn’t Dean the one that was supposed to die? The one that had it coming? The one who wanted it on every bad day?

So why Sammy?

Why Cas?

And why like this? Why were they victims of something Dean should’ve been able to see beforehand, to stop?

And here he was, kneeling by them, their blood soaking his clothes as it pooled on the floor of the attic. It began to drip between the floorboards.

Dean did the most useless thing he could at that moment, but he didn’t realize it at the time. He wasn’t thinking. He was barely feeling. The inside of his head buzzed like a live wire. So there weren’t any thoughts going through his head besides some endless scream he felt building, and building, as he dragged Sam and Cas’ bodies close together. And Dean laid down in all that blood, and fit himself beside them. And he wished he was dead.

_It should’ve been me._

_It should’ve been me._ It should’ve been me. IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME.

But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been.

And this blood seeping out of their ruined bodies that would eventually grow cold was all he had left of them.

Bugs would feed on them, hatch in them, grow, and feed some more. They would be eaten away and they would grow bloated and then rot.

Unless Dean did something.

But what could he do?

Burning them didn’t even cross his mind. Why would he have to burn people who weren’t dead?

This was a joke. Sammy and Cas had slipped in red paint, gotten it splattered on themselves and had then decided to take a nap — it didn’t matter that angels didn’t sleep. Castiel was sleeping now. And the gaping wounds, those were part of an elaborate prank they’d decided to play on Dean. In a few moments they would wake up, pat him on the back, and laugh at how stupid Dean was for falling for this.

But they didn’t do that.

The sky darkened with Dean’s heart, the sun falling down below the horizon and taking the last bit of good in the world with it. Sam and Castiel’s bodies had grown cold. The blood he lay in was now nearly freezing, and with the drafts of the October air, he was stiff from the freezing bite, and surely his nails were tinged blue. But he wouldn’t leave them.

Not yet.

Dean couldn’t even think about taking either of them to the Impala, and lying them out in the back seat, or maybe having one of them next to Dean. Sure, one would fit in the trunk. But what the fuck would he do that for? This was his brother, this was his family!

And god damn it, he didn’t need to do anything! They would walk out of here themselves.

They would.

_They would._

They had to.

The night remained cold, and much too quiet.

There was just emptiness where breaths should have been, ice where there should have been heat, silence where there should have been heartbeats, and pounding blood, and warmth, and life, and the fucking love they had for each other.

How was it that one awful moment could just… take that all away?

How the hell was that fair?

And here Dean was, lying between them, hating everything. Hating God, hating his father, hating himself, even hating Sam and Cas for being dead, for not getting up off that bloodied floor.

It wasn’t red paint on the floor.

Why wasn’t it?

Why couldn’t it be?

Who was letting this god damn thing happen?

God?

Was there a God?

And if there was, why in the fucking hell was he a god damn son of a bitch?

Dean pat at Sam’s shoulder, and all he felt was the stiffness of rigor mortis. He gripped at Castiel’s hand. It didn’t grip back.

Tears in his eyes, barely able to breathe, chest hurting so badly he was sure he was about to die like he truly wanted to in that moment, he began to pray.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Dean said. “Wherever you are, wherever angels go wh-when they… die. But fuck! Fuck you! You’re dead, Sammy’s dead! You just fucking abandoned me, and left me here with nothing. Can’t sing with Sam in the car anymore, can’t have you making me coffee anymore, can’t fucking have another person next to me in my car we should’ve been on the road in for forever. What do you have to say, huh?”

Dean was up now. He hated leaving them, but they’d left him! It should’ve been him. _It should’ve been him!_

He paced, then he started screaming, and he bashed his fists against anything and everything he could find. They bled, his knuckles cracked and fractured.

Dean kept breaking the world around him.

There wasn’t much of himself left to break in the process. What had broken him was lying mangled on the floor.

Eventually, Dean slumped down by them, blinded by tears, breathing too quickly. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

A ringing started up in his head, which heightened to an electric whine.

Dead.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

_DEAD._

That was it.

That was what was coming for everyone. He’d known that it would always be coming for them, and it had before. But now? What was there to do? Fucking nothing. It was over.

Everything was over.

The world had had enough of the Winchesters and their family.

End of story.

Goodbye.

The end.

And yet… Dean remained. He lived past the story, past the final page, where he wandered in the dreaded words that no one had the heart to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm getting so far behind on this. AAARRGGHHH!!!!
> 
> I'll blame intense physical pain, my cats fighting each other, and the god damn distraction known as TikTok.


End file.
